


Richie's Secret is Out

by brokenpromisesandhope



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crushes, Explicit Language, Family Feels, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenpromisesandhope/pseuds/brokenpromisesandhope
Summary: "reddie hc where the losers do end up playing that game of truth and dare pennywise mocked richie abt and richie has to pick truth"
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ive been dead up obsessed with reddie lately so please send me some prompts   
> xx   
> t   
> nancythebisexualslutwheeler.tumblr

“I KNOW YOUR SECRET YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET” Pennywise screams. Richie’s panicking. Everyone else had gone. Pennywise had picked truth for them all in this wicked game of truth and dare. Richie’s stomach is tight with fear. He’d assumed the fear about his secret would be less of a pain but it wasn’t.

“Tell us Richie. Tell us what you’d rather forget.”  
He’s not suicidal, not yet at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier to open his mouth. One of It’s tentacles pushes him against the rock wall.

“I’m not-“ the talon pokes harder into his chest. He actually feels it prick the skin, “I’m gay! Are you happy you big motherfucker! I’m gay!”

He doesn’t have time to take in anyone’s reaction as IT uses the talon to scratch down his face. He can feel the blood, warm.  
“What the FUCK!” He spits as a trail of blood enters his mouth.

That’s his secret. His big secret. Richie Tozier is a fucking fairy. That’s it. It’s embarrassing, hence why he’d never come out before. Everything he was. Obnoxious, loud, funny Richie was reduced to nothing more than some token gay boy. Everything about him suddenly became tortured or radical or some bullshit. There was a reason he’d been in the closet for 42 fucking years.

He was a dick. Like an asshole, through and through. Had been, ever since he was a kid. He was mean. Some might have called him a bully. He didn’t need anyone taking their homophobia out on him. He couldn’t imagine the mocking, the rudeness, the stares, the questions, the jokes. It was easier to stay by himself. Make self deprecating jokes during his sets about things he didn’t care about. It didn’t matter what he dressed like or his geek glasses, or the fact he’s dumber than a sack of rocks. None of that mattered. He could make fun of that. He couldn’t make fun of this.

This shitty hand he’d been dealt. It was one thing to be in love with your best friend. But for your best friend to be a boy. To be thirteen and in love with a boy, while you’re already being bullied for things you can’t control. And you can’t control this. He never had been able to. From glancing a little too long at the cute stranger at the coffee shop. When his manager clapped him on the shoulder, he couldn’t help but lean into the human touch. Just like he couldn’t help it that night in college. Drunk out of his mind, hooking up with his lab partner Tony. It’s the only thing he’s done for real. With another guy at least. One messy blow job in a shitty dark bathroom. The only thing he’d ever let himself have. He dropped the class and never saw Tony again. Okay, not he’d never seen him again. Tony showed up at his dorm one night, Richie’s roomate was there for fuck’s sake, and Richie had told him to fuck off. Well. It ended with Richie punching him in the face and telling him to keep his gay hands off of him. He’d said gay, but they both know what he’d meant.  
Anyway, he’d done what the fucker wanted. Embarrassed himself and probably ruined the only friendships he’d had. Ever had. So he didn’t understand why he could taste his own blood.

“I know I’m charming as fuck all, but that’s all I’ve got,” Richie shrugs as best he can in this demon’s arms.

It’s face morphs into what he assumes is a smile and out comes that loud, ratchey voice,

“Richie’s got a CRUSH!”

Richie’s going to vomit. All over this monster. Maybe it’ll drop him. Maybe he’ll die. He hopes he dies. He’d rather die than. He can’t. He cannot.

“SAY IT!”

“Fuck you,” Richie spits.

The talon slides down his cheek and neck and down his chest, resting right above his ribs. Dangerously sharp.

“SAY IT!”

“Jesus Christ Richie, just-” Ben shouts.

“No!”

“It’s gonna kill you!” says Bev.

Richie sees his life. It’s pathetic. He doesn’t call his sister enough. He hasn’t even talked to his mom in a week because she’s in Mexico like most rational people who live in Maine year round. He has fans, he does, he is funny. Maybe his death will end up in some b list magazine. Otherwise, up until three days ago, the most prominent people in his life were his manager, his throat doctor, and the D-list actress he has an on and off thing. (She doesn’t ask, he doesn’t tell, and she doesn’t make him feel bad when he can’t get it up.) That’s it. His life is pathetic.

He hasn’t even had time to pine. To gush over how hot Eddie is now. He went through a phase in high school when he was obsessed with older men, but now that he is in his forties, he loves it even more. And Eddie is good looking. He’s barely had five minutes to think about it though. He’s too busy thinking about whether he’s going to live or die. It looks like die.

The Losers are screaming at him to get it together, to do something. To speak dammit. They sound frantic, but he can’t, he can’t. This secret is a part of him. It’s his. It’s been with him for so long. Sewed itself into his heart and is comfortable there. It’s his. It’s his. He thinks desperately. He can’t. He can’t admit it. He’s panicking. He’s crying. He doesn’t remember crying before this moment, but suddenly he’s crying. He’s talking fat crocodile tears and snot and he’s blubbering.

“Richie goddammit, say something!” Bev screams hysterically.

He can’t breathe, his heart is racing and he screams as the talon pierces the soft skin of his stomach. He chokes and blood bubbles up his throat.

“Richie! You are not going to die today. It’s okay. It’s okay Richie. No matter who it is, it’s going to be okay.”

He’s near passing out, he can’t breathe, he can’t function, he’s not even sure it was Eddie talking to them but the hope. The thought that Eddie doesn’t want him to die, the fact that he has friends. Friends who he could spend time with if he lives. Goddammit, if he lives.

“I’ve been in love with Eddie since I was thirteen.” He whispers.

“Louder!”

Richie’s choking up blood now,

“Eddie, ok?! It’s fucking Eddie!”

He’s immediately dropped and everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

1\. So eventually the losers are allowed to visit Richie. But the second Eddie steps into the room, sheepish and last, Richie is screaming at him to get out. He doesn’t listen to what anyone has to say about the situation. There’s not much small talk to be made, but if not before this, their bond is solidified and everyone gives him as best of a hug as they can and more or less, tell him that they’re happy he’s alive. 

2\. The next time he sees Eddie is when his nurse pokes her head in, 

“Honey, your friend has been out here quite awhile.” 

“I’m not up for company.”

He can feel Eddie’s brown eyes on him. 

“Richie,” and there’s so much in that one word. In his name. There’s twenty seven years between them. 

“Go home.” 

Bev shows up with a store bought cake. She explained to him that she never could bake. It’s funny how it made sense, even though he hadn’t seen her in all of these years. 

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” 

“The fact that I never sat around and talked boys with you?” He asks with a grin.

“No, you absolute idiot. Eddie? Our Eddie?” 

“I just remembered five minutes ago.”

“Richie.”

“What? It’s a non issue.”

“None issue? He’s been out there everyday. All day.”

“How do you know Beverly? Oh yes, because you’re here every day too. Like a good old friend.”

She snorts,   
“Friend? Richie,”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” 

“I don’t know what type of repressed shit-“ 

“Bev,” Richie chokes, tears springing to his eyes, “please don’t.” 

Bev pats his hand, 

“Okay honey. Okay.” 

3\. The next time he sees Eddie is when he wakes up. It’s early. Too early. Probably around six. He’s switching out the flowers on Richie’s bedside table. He didn’t realize someone needed to do that. He didn’t realize the flowers were always fresh. Of course it would be Eddie. 

Eddie’s standing there, sheepish, hair not even bothered to be slicked back, looking disheveled as all hell. His facial hair is growing and Richie doesn’t think he’d be able to handle him in a full beard. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and track pants. He looks incredibly guilty,

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he starts but cuts himself off when he realizes that Richie isn’t shouting at him. 

“It’s fine,” Richie grunts out. 

“I’ll just,” he points to the door.

Richie hesitates. He wants Eddie to come closer. He wants to see him. He wants him to say something. 

“Can you get me a glass of water?” Richie asks slowly. 

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Doesn’t know what he’s going to say when Eddie brings him his water. What he’s going to do. If he’s going to offer Eddie to sit or-  
He’s pulled out of his obsessive thoughts, 

“Of course. Of course let me just,” and Eddie rushes out of the room. 

Richie hasn’t shut up in 42 years. He knows how to talk. He knows how to talk to Eddie too. Eddie was his best friend, for years. But now, Eddie knows he has a crush on him. 

He wants to snort at the thought, a crush, yeah right. He may have had a crush on Eddie when they were ten. But now, now he’s a grown ass man with grown ass feelings about... well, another man. 

If he wasn’t a pussy, if he, well if he’d thought about his feelings for Eddie. Processed them like an adult. But when was there time for that? Between near death situations? 

By the time Eddie gets back with a glass of water, he’s worked himself into a panic. His hand is shaking when he reaches out to grab the glass and as the back of their hands slide together, he yelps,

“Get out. Get out.”

“Rich, man,”

“Get out!” 

And Eddie just gives him a sad smile and walks out. Somehow the little paper hospital cup has a slice of lemon in it and Richie throws it against the wall. He’s fucked. 

4\. He can feel her presence before she even walks in the door. His sister Sarah is a force to be reckoned with. He hates her because she got all the attractive genes, leaving Richie with fuck all. 

She sashays into the room. What are probably designer sunglasses on her head, holding back her wildly curly hair. She has piercing green eyes and she’s tall and thin with a Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder and a basket of what looks like utter shit in her hands. 

“Richie, you almost fucking died on me!” She shouts, throwing her stuff into the nearest arm chair. She’s wearing an olive green pea coat over a black sweater, jeans and a pair of high heeled gray booties. 

Sarah is. What is Sarah. She’s a fashion designer. For lack of a better word. She’s not exactly sewing the clothes tooth and nail like high school anymore, nor has Richie seen her with a sketch book recently. The point is she’s rich, and fun and relatable and literally ended up on the Top Bachelors/Bachelorettes List of 2017. It drives Richie crazy. He’s the actually famous one dammit. And he hadn’t even made the cut. It kills him the way Sarah charms her way through interviews. Shit, she gets papped more than him it feels sometimes. Suddenly, all that charm is on him and she crosses the room to throw her arms around him. 

She feels like home, and smells like Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar since she has since she was thirteen and Sarah. The Sarah Tozier is crying into his shoulder. 

“I love you Richie. Stop trying to be a hero all the fucking time.”

“A hero?” He asks, slightly confused.

“Yes,” she hisses, “there’s no way you own anything valuable enough to fight off a mugger for.” 

He splutters,  
“Is this face not valuable Sarah?!” He asks dramatically. 

She rolls her eyes,   
“Shut up Rich. I’m serious. What the fuck were you thinking? Look at you!”

“What? I’ve never been better,” he grits out.

“Never been better?! Fuck off with the jokes, we’re not seventeen! Never better? Concussion, punctured lung, this fucking cut on your face! Broken ribs. Sprained ankle. Richie, you’re tore the fuck up.” She says, sliding next to him in the bed. 

Richie sits in silence, feeling throughly scolded. 

“They have coffee here?”

“It’s shitty.”

She nods,   
“Aren’t you like some huge celebrity now? Couldn’t you have sprung for a nicer place?”

He knows she’s gotten it off her chest, is less mad now and more concerned, so he slides back into bickering with her,

“First of all, I’m pretty sure no hospital has a fucking Starbucks adjoining the lobby. And second, your taste is about as putrid as that color coat.”

Her jaw drops,  
“Take that back!”

“Never!”

“I’m gonna beat your ass when you’re put back together. There’s no way you of all people are insulting the way I dress.”

“I did and I am my beautiful sister.”

“Alright, turn on this damn tv because I’ve heard enough of your mouth already.”

“Your words wound me.”

“They should. I’ve been here like ten minutes.”

There’s a lull in conversation as he turns easily to where he knows Dr.Phil will be on. 

“Speaking of which-“

“Here we go.” He starts. 

“I know that I did not see that little cutie Eddie fucking Kaspbrak outside!” She all but squeals. 

Before Sarah ended up fucking hating them like older sister’s do, back in the day, she had fucking loved them. In fact, Sarah was a big reason that Richie even started thinking about Eddie that way. She was always pushing them together. Not even like that, but in a way that grouped them all up. Bill and Bev. Stan and Mike and Ben. And Eddie and Richie. Eddie and Richie. 

“He’s not cute. He’s a grown ass man.”

“I didn’t ask you if he was cute.” She looks him over once. “So a reunion?” She asks. Very pointedly, Instead of asking “Is there something you need to tell me?” 

“Um yeah. All of us losers were there.”

“Including Eddie fucking kaspbrak.”

“Sarah.” He says. Daring her, almost. 

“You never settled down.” 

“Neither did you,” he argues.

“I’m busy fucking my way through pre-Bachelorette contestants.” 

“Sarah.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?!”

“And your gay.”

“Sarah!” 

She glares at him. Daring him to challenge her. 

“Tit for tat?” 

She nods,   
“Tit for tat.”

“Deadass?”

“Deadass. For Eddie, right?”

“Always for Eddie. Are you.. anything else? In a relationship perhaps?”

“Yeah. I’m.. it’s a something. Did you tell him?” 

“He.. found out.” He grinds his teeth. Forgets to ask his question. 

“Do you remember when you kissed him?”

“I what?!” 

“You were five. I married you in the backyard. I omitted the kiss, but it was you who insisted.”

“I did not.”

“Did to.”

“Does he know?” Richie asks.

“Why is Eddie out there instead of in here?” She snaps back. 

Richie can’t believe it. His own sister knew. And she’d, she probably hadn’t forgotten. There had been no reason for her to lose her memories. So this whole time she’d known about Richie’s feelings. She’d said nothing. She.. she treated him the same. She’d loved him anyway. And suddenly he’s crying. 

She holds him, like she always does, and he very pointedly does not think about Eddie outside in the waiting room. 

“I love you Richie.” 

“I tolerate you.” 

“That’s my cue to leave.” 

It takes her awhile to get her things and get herself together, and suddenly Richie is at the door, hugging her again. 

“You’ve gotta tell him.” 

“You need to talk to Eddie.”

Richie grins, 

“Tit for tat?”

She hesitates before nodding and opening the door, 

“Tit for tat.” 

He’s just shutting the door when she trills, 

“Oh my god. Eddie, sweetie. I haven’t seen you in years! Do you want to go grab lunch or something? Richie’s just exhausted. So it will probably be a few hours before he’s recovered.” 

Richie shuts the door and crawls into bed, mind reeling. 

5\. “Richie honey!” It’s Janice, his favorite nurse and her favorite patient. 

“Yes Janet?” 

“You know I’m going on vacation tomorrow.” 

“I know, you witch. What about it?” 

“Well you haven’t talked to your gentleman friend yet and you’ll probably be discharged by the time I’m back so,” 

“Janice, I’m really not.”

“Honey, he’s right here. “ 

Eddie pokes his head in and his hair is still a mess and he’s got a little bit more than a five o’clock shadow, which means he hasn’t left. 

“Janet.” He says desperately. “I don’t feel well, I can’t.”

“Richie please,” Eddie says desperately. 

“I said I don’t feel well. Please don’t,” he says weakly. 

“Richie honey, sooner or later-“

“Oh shut up and get out, get the fuck out Janice!” He snaps. 

He sees the hurt flash across her face and then the door shuts forcefully. 

+1:   
Richie’s being discharged. Sarah had to go back to New York, so Mike was bringing him to the airport. He’d left a card for Janice at the front desk with a promise to tickets to one of his shows, had his slides on, and was ready to go. 

He’s not expecting Eddie to be in the waiting room. Still. He’s got his hair slicked back and he’s bare faced again. He must have a flight of his own to catch. 

“Richie,” he says quietly. 

Richie looks down, he doesn’t want to do this right now. He’s tired. 

“Just, tell me if I’m wasting my time. It’s been ten days. I haven’t left your side. I. We need to talk about this. Can we please talk about this?” 

“What’s there to talk about? You’re married. To a woman.” 

“We’re separated. We’ve been separated. I didn’t like, leave her for you. You’re not that special,” he jokes. 

“But you said-“

“Yeah, like I’m gonna show up and say I’m a failed divorcee.” 

“Eddie I don’t have time-“

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” 

“If I love you too.” He says quietly. 

“I’m not gonna,” Richie’s stuck between wanting to collapse onto the ground and run away. 

He tried to tell himself that it doesn’t matter if Eddie loves him, it doesn’t. They haven’t known each other for nearly thirty years. They each have their own respective lives. It doesn’t. This isn’t a fairytale. Richie has a life. Shows and obligations and he’s gonna be an uncle, holy shit. He has a girlfriend for Christ’s sake. So no, it doesn’t matter if Eddie loves him too. It’s too late for that. Life doesn’t work like that. 

“Richie I,”

“Don’t!” He all but shouts, “I swear to fucking, don’t! It’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Richie what-“

“We can’t just be together. There’s, I have a life. You have a life. You have a job. You’re going through a divorce! No matter how we feel, it’s not, okay. It’s not, things aren’t just going to fit magically into place.” 

“They can if we try.” 

That sounds too much like the truth. Richie’s gut hurts. He doesn’t want to try. He doesn’t even want to start, because he knows he will not stop. No matter how things go. And if they ride hard, they’re going to crash and burn, fast. He’s lived his entire life in denial. He’d rather never know then to have things go south. And quickly. 

He has to go, he has to get out of this situation. 

“Can we try?” Eddie begs, “Give me a chance!”

“That’s the thing Eds. It wouldn’t be a chance. It would be unlimited chances. And if things don’t work out, I can’t handle it.” 

“So you’re counting us out before we’ve even tried?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

He tries to duck around Eddie, he’s got to get out of here. 

“Richie, I love you. And I know it’s been like two weeks since our feelings came back but god they came back and I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone before. I hadn’t realized that until now. What love actually felt like. Truly felt like. Please give me a chance. Let’s work this out, let’s.” 

Richie looks up when he hears Eddie’s voice crack. There’s tears in his beautiful brown eyes and he has his own stitches in his face and he’s thought of about ten jokes about their matching scars if they do get together. Get together. 

“I don’t,” 

“Dammit!” And Eddie is kissing him. 

He’s soft but firm and his huge palm and resting on the back of Richie’s neck and his mouth is hot, and slick. He finds himself standing completely still, just letting himself be kissed. 

Richie breaks away panting,

“I can’t take anymore. I have to go.” 

“Richie please.”

“Stop for gods sake. Mike is waiting for me.” 

“I can drive you!” He says desperately. 

Richie shakes his head, 

“I’m okay.” 

Eddie frowns in disappointment. Richie feels bad leaving, he does. But he’s scared, and it’s his first kiss with a guy and the guy is Eddie. But he can’t take it anymore. He’s anxious to get to the pharmacy to pick up his prescription because his ribs are killing him, and he’s nervous to return to an empty apartment. 

Eddie’s still staring at him and Richie adjusts his backpack straps before leaning in to kiss Eddie’s cheek, 

“I’ll text you when I’m on the plane.” 

He starts walking away,

“Richie!” Eddie calls.

Richie turns around,

“I-“

Richie shakes his head. Smiles a bit. 

“I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

He texts Eddie probably too soon. He’s barely folded himself into an uncomfortable seat to wait for the airplane and he only forces himself to send a text to Sarah, before he sends one to Eddie. 

From your number: One step closer to home man!

His phone chirps nearly instantly, 

From Edward Kaspbrak: I’m glad. Are you in pain? 

Physical? Absolutely not. Mental anguish that Eddie thinks he’s playing a game with him because he couldn’t man up and kiss him back? Um, yes. 

From your number: I’m fine. Can’t wait to get back home and hit the booze though.

From Edward Kaspbrak: No plane drinking for you? 

From your number: And end up crying into the lap of a random stranger? No thanks.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I offered to go with you. You played yourself. 

He sends the shrugging emoji and Richie bursts into laughter. 

From your number: I’m scared. 

From Edward Kaspbrak: I know. Doesn’t mean I love you any less. 

Richie’s heart pounds. This is what he means. He can’t do this, he can’t. Their chance is over. They could have had so much, everything. High school and college and they could have gotten married dammit. But nope. Now he’s middle aged and the thought of Eddie saying those words directly to his face, makes him want to vomit. 

He puts Eddie on do not disturb, thinks better of it and then powers down the entire phone. He’s having difficulty breathing, and he’s convinced it’s not all entirely his lung.

Richie takes three weeks off to recover, reschedules eight shows and loses about ten grand. His ankle is healed, as well as his head but his lung still hurts if he moves too quickly and he still has this disgusting scar on his face. That’s gonna cost a pretty penny to fix. 

He flies out to New York to see Sarah for a few days, and he’s been keeping regular contact with the Losers. 

Him and Eddie are.. well. They talk on the phone. Every night. Eddie’s healing up, back to work- analyzing risks- or whatever that bullshit meant. Plugging along with his divorce from Myra. Begging Richie to see him. 

Richie avoided it at all costs, terrified of seeing him. So he rambled about his day, his new set, everything. 

Richie’s a touch nervous about his show. He’s been laying lower than low since his accident, making extremely sure no one saw him before he was damn well ready. 

And apparently that time was gone because he’d no more than ordered his iced latte when some teenager who in all reality is a little too young to be watching his sets, asks for a picture. 

It takes him over an hour to get out of the small coffee shop, and that’s only because a manager comes out, pissed. 

He doesn’t even want his watered down latte any longer. He angrily throws the coffee into a nearby garbage can and rests heavily against the wall of the building. If even that little interaction was too much, how was he going to get through an entire set tonight? 

His phone rings and he has every intention of letting it go to voicemail, until he sees it’s his manager, Steve. 

“Hey-o.”

“Rich man, what the fuck were you thinking?! You want to get attacked or something?!”

“I’m barely famous,” Richie says flippantly, hoping he’s not going to get actually yelled at because he can not handle that right now. 

“You’re a fucking bum from Maine who somehow got signed with the top comedian company and was promised two back to back tours before you even took pen to paper. Not to mention you nearly died Richie.” 

He’s getting sick of hearing those words come out of Steve, and his wife’s mouth. The first entire week he’d been back, he’d stayed with them. He’d gained like fifteen pounds from all the home cooked meals. He’d taken a bubble bath. With epsom salt. So he knows how Steve feels about his accident, he does. 

“I just wanted to be normal. For once.” Richie admits quietly. 

Steve laughs lightly, 

“Me too. Maybe if you were normal, it wouldn’t be so hard being your manager.”

Richie knows it’s a joke, but the sudden thought that Steve wouldn’t want to manage him anymore. His wife is Christian, they have a daughter for Christ’s sake... they don’t need Richie being a bad influence. God, he was just going to get up there and make jokes without any care for anyone else. Not Steve. Not.. he who must not be named. (Okay this isn’t fucking Harry Potter, pull it together Rich.)

“Hey Steve?”

“Yes o favorite client of mine.”

“I made a new set.” 

“I know. I am thrilled.”

“Well you may want to taper that back a little.”

“Rich? Is this one of your moments? Do I need to amp you up? Do we need to play Beyoncé?”

Richie is going to kill him. He doesn’t know how to do this. Come out. This is a problem for thirteen year old girls who realized they liked the taste of their best friends lip gloss during practice kissing rather than a boy’s bad breath during real kissing. 

“Um, some of my jokes revolve around a guy.”

“Oh cool. You know, you’re not as ugly as you think, but the crowd does go wild for that self hate shit, mainly because your photo of you shirtless at the pool on Instagram got flagged as inappropriate content because people kept commenting “daddy” under it. It’s funny Rich.”

Richie had forgotten about that. He’d thought it was a joke, and he’d sat up drinking beer and eating pizza with his beard Natalie as she insisted, no, he was daddy material. Natalie was a twenty seven year old from fucking Wisconsin of all places and played a ditzy granddaughter on a soap opera that Richie, being the terrible boyfriend he is, has never seen. She wouldn’t know daddy material if it slapped her in the face. She insists she does. But it’s kind of like the way she insists she's slept with Liam Hemsworth. Her beautiful blue eyes beg you to believe her, but she can’t keep the smirk off of her lips. 

“No, I mean. Fuck Steve, you know you’re like a brother to me,”

Steve cackles,

“Damn, this is how you treat your family?”

“Ask my sister because the answer most definitely is yes. Anyway, the joke is about me liking a guy.”

There’s a pause,

“Um, Rich my dude. There’s a word for that and it’s called homophobia.”

Richie grunts and balls his free fist at his side,

“No like, I like a guy. For real.” 

There’s a pause, 

“Is something wrong with Natalie?”

“No, no no! Oh god Natalie. I have to tell her. Oh god, I can’t go on tonight. I can’t.” He says pathetically. Desperately. 

“I understand this is a crisis situation, I do, but we’ve got a baby on the way, and this show is raking in like a quarter of a mill so, you’re going on.”

“A baby? Oh wow!” 

Something Richie will never have. Wait. Where did that come from? Does he want kids? 

“Richie, shut up. Okay, I’m only going to ask once, are you sure this is what you want to do?” 

Richie hesitates. He wonders if Natalie will still want to be friends. 

“If you think this will ruin her career, we’re not doing it.” 

“Other than that?” 

Richie presses his thumbs against his eyelids in concentration.

“Yes.” 

It’s barely a whisper.

“I’ll take care of everything.”

“Steve-“

“Everything. Be at the studio at 5.”

“But I don’t go on til 8.”

“Richie, be there on time I swear to god.” 

Richie shows up around 6:30. He hasn’t heard from Natalie or Steve, so they can’t be too pissed. 

He’d had to shower twice. He’d talked to Mike on the phone. He’d texted Eddie about twice before he got nervous. He’s tired and crabby and this is not the way he’s supposed to be starting his first show back. Not by a long shot. 

So the first thing he does is ask the first person he sees for some scotch. Steve might kill him but he needs to be at least tipsy to make it through this one. 

He’d thought he was ready, but maybe he wasn’t. He’s not ready to face Steve’s inevitable wrath, or at least annoyance, so he ducks into the dressing room. 

To his dismay, Natalie is in there, talking to his hairstylist Maggie. She stands up immediately and she’s got her wide smile on and she hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek instead of his lips,

“You’re late.”

“Sue me.”

She snorts, “I have a lot of reasons too, so I’d shut up. Anyway, I have dinner for you.”

“Dinner?” 

“I’m not just a pretty face you know.” And she hands him a Tupperware container. 

He hasn’t seen Tupperware in like 15 years. He laughs and she rolls her eyes, 

“Come on, there’s a microwave over here.” 

She places her hand on the small of his back, perhaps more out of muscle memory and she leads him into the small kitchenette, taking back the Tupperware before heating the food. 

“So? This is interesting.” 

“You can’t be.. surprised.” He says, even though that’s a straight lie.

“I assumed all men in their forties had issues getting it up, even when a pair of perfect tits in their face.”

He knows she’s kidding. He does, and it’s not even the first time she’d given it back as good as she got but he suddenly feels like crying. She must sense this immediately because Natalie is amazing like that, and she’s wrapping her arms around him. He cries into her chest like a fucking child. They only pull away after the microwave beeps for like the millionth time. 

“Oh honey. It’s going to be okay.”

“How are you going to be?” 

“Oh you’re cutting me a check. Steve promised.”

“You should be cutting me a check princess. I know your contract just got renewed.”

“You’re making nearly 25k... tonight.”

“Snooping are we?” 

She shoves the Tupperware at him, 

“Eat your dinner.” 

“Natalie, are we still, gonna be friends I mean?” He asks sheepishly. 

She made him chicken, potatoes and green beans. He knows everything is homemade. She hated the chemicals in the fake meat he ate. Hey, he was gonna die for a lot of other shit, and probably first. The environment was worth it. Okay not time for a fucking rant right now. 

“Honey, we’re family.” 

There’s a knock on the door,

“Rich? I’ve got the fucking liquor you ordered.” Steve says, handing him the bottle. “Do not get too wasted.” 

Richie gets like.. half a shot too wasted. He’s buzzing. He’s flushed and warm and his hands are sweaty and Natalie isn’t fawning all over him like she usually does and he is stressed. He’s alone. He wants to message Eddie but he pussies out. 

When he goes out, the screams are deafening. Once he gets the mic in his hand, he’s flying. He goes on about the nasty gash on his face, hobbling around with a twisted rib and how his crazy, lazy, halfway drunk ass is going to be an uncle. The jokes flow easily, even if he didn’t plan on saying it, and suddenly he has the terrible thought, shrugs and hopes that Sarah has already told her baby daddy. 

And then he gets into it. 

“So I know you’re all dying to know what the hell happened. I wish I could say that it was some badass like, car robbery. But it was just a straight up mugging. The thing is that I was with my friends, right? I know that’s shocking, hardy har har. But I’m with some friends, and I have this one friend. Her name is Bev, she’s gorgeous, and a bad ass through and through, strongest person I know, my bad, I’m exposing myself a bit too much, I am a heartless prick, I promise. 

“But we’re at a bar, and some skeeze, no a real dick, I mean it. Takes her purse. Is this fucking 1992? Who steals a purse? Now, I’ve got a shit ton of liquor in me, but suddenly I’m running. And it’s cold, we’re in Maine and it’s winter And I’m freezing my balls off. And I’ve almost got him, I did track in high school, yeah yeah I don’t look like I can run from here to backstage, I get it.” 

The crowd roars. 

“The point is, I’m almost on him. This motherfucker pulls out a knife. Now, I know this doesn’t sound funny but listen, number one, Bev is a fucking receptionist at a dental office, she’s not even raking in the dollars. Trust me, I’ve paid her rent a few times,” he straight up hasn’t and even though he thinks it’s funny ,he shouts out a quick, “love you Bev!”

“Anyway, the guy pulls out a knife and goes insane. I thought this beer belly would protect me, but alas,” his voice is getting sad, so he pulls it together, “Anyway. The first of my friends to find me is someone I’m close to right. My first love. And I’m bleeding out on the cold cement, for real, Natalie, though she could have given me some tips on how to handle it so beautifully, but my first love’s in front of me and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

“So I’m going on and on and throwing around big words that my man child ass doesn’t know the meaning of, like love and forever, and he’s staring at me like the idiot I am, and I promise there’s a point to this joke, and the joke is that once again, Richie fumbled. Good old Rich just lost it. So the fuck up you see right here, it turns out I’m actually this way in real life. So please remember what an absolute goof I am, especially next time you want to stalk me at fucking Dunn Brothers, and fuck up my oat milk latte, which is an extra ninety cents by the way, please remember that I’m a big dork,”

Suddenly there’s a commotion in the crowd and some guy is standing on his chair and Richie’s never wanted to die more, 

“Did you say a guy?” He shouts. 

It’s silent, before he nods slightly, 

“Yes I did. I’m a big ol-“ he doesn’t even know what fucked up thing he’s going to say, when the crowd erupts into applause. 

And he’s sure that some people left, or there’s comments, but the applause is all he needs. He is a slut for validation after all. Thank you love language quiz. Words of affirmation baby! 

The rest of the set goes great and he’s still properly buzzed when he steps off stage. Steve is clapping him on the shoulder, even though he’s on the phone and then Richie’s rushed backstage and handed water and there’s. He squeezes the water bottle too tight and it explodes all over him. It’s freezing, even though he feels warm and before he’s thinking about it, he’s yanking off his shirts and suddenly someone’s handing him a towel and he hears a dog whistle. He’s about to tell Natalie to fuck off, when he sees who she’s standing by. 

There. In the flesh, is Eddie Kaspbrak. He looks good, dammit. A maroon sweater and tight black jeans. His cheeks are flushed and he’s holding his black jacket in his arms. 

“No one took his coat?” Richie yanks it out of his hands and throws it somewhere. “Where’s everybody else?” 

He looks confused, 

“What do you mean?”

“Impromptu Loser’s trip to my show. Is Bev pissed about the rent thing because I swear-“

Natalie sips at some cocktail awkwardly and Eddie swallows hard,

“Um, it’s just me.” 

Richie halts. He sees someone off the scene - he knows these people’s names- he swears, it’s just dark. But he gestures for the booze again. Eddie came to see him. For his first show. Oh god. Eddie heard him go on about his jawline for Christ’s sake and now. He looks like a deer in headlights. The scotch is thrust into his hands and he takes three long pulls before doing anything. 

The worst part is Eddie is just chilling. Kicking it, while Richie has this internal meltdown which he knows is showing on his face. He doesn’t know what to do so he all but thrusts the liquor at Eddie, grabs Natalie’s arm and storms off. 

“What am I gonna do? Shit he’s here, he’s here.” 

“You knew he was gonna hear the sketch anyway, why does it matter?”

“Because I’m drunk. I acted like a lovesick fool. My dad bod is exposed. What am I gonna do?! And be serious. There’s only room for one funny one in this relationship.”

She smiles, 

“Good thing it’s me, my darling. Talk to him. He seems cool.”

“You talked to him?!”

“Uh yeah. He’s been back here since about half way through the set. Barged right back here. Lucky I recognized the name.”

He stares and she sighs, 

“You’ve been saying his name in your sleep. Ever since the accident.”

“Oh god. You probably think I’m pathetic.”

“Not pathetic, in love.” 

“In love? But I’m, we don’t know each other. We haven’t kept in touch in years.” 

“Love doesn’t fade with age sweetie.” 

“Oh stop being reasonable! I understand you just got a new gay best friend, but be logical.”

She snorts, 

“Trust me, no one wants to go shopping with you. I am being logical. That man is head over heels for you. And you’re head over heels for him. Now do something about it before I kick your ass.” 

“Your shoes are too expensive.” 

“What am I gonna do? Talk about my feelings?” 

She shakes her head quickly, 

“Oh god no. Who knows what would come out. Just, ya know, go seduce him, with all of this.” 

If it were anyone else he’d think they were kidding, but the have had sex dozens of times and so he knows she can’t be joking too much. His insecure ass isn’t that desperate so he keeps his mouth shut. She touches his shoulder, 

“Go out there and kiss him. Just kiss him.” 

He stares and she whacks his arm,

“And keep your mouth shut. No jokes.”

“What if he tries to slip in a little tongue?” He wags his eyebrows.

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

“Eddie thinks so,” he says quickly, before he can stop himself. 

Natalie grins, 

“By the grace of god he does. Now go kiss him dammit!”

He strides out of the room, not paying any attention to if she’s following him, but he bets she is, as if she’d miss this. Eddie is looking flushed and cradling the scotch bottle like a pacifier and all Richie does is take it out of his hand and set it down quickly. Eddie stares. Eddie’s here. Eddie came here. To California. To see his set. He’d paid to see Richie. He remembers to ask Steve about a refund, vaguely of course, before he’s fitting a hand around Eddie’s jaw, Eddie’s beautiful jaw and ducking in to kiss him. 

There’s no symphony or choir that starts singing but his heart does feel about three sizes too big like that Dr.Seuss book, and Eddie kisses him back so softly, as if he’s going to break. More likely that he’ll pull away, but Richie can’t imagine. Pulling away from this magical kiss. Eddie’s tongue licks tentatively at his lips and Richie opens his mouth immediately in a grin. 

He hears a dog whistle and an “Atta boy!” And wow he hates his team so much. They’re getting fired, the whole lot of them. 

Things must get a little heated because he hears the sharp clearing of a throat,

“I can get you out the back way,” says Steve, sheepishly.

Except Steve, Steve can stay. 

Richie is being handed a clean, dry shirt from someone, he’d forgotten, that wouldn’t be a good look, and then he takes Eddie’s hand. Firmly. It’s a good hand.

“You ready to get out of here?” 

“After you,” Eddie says, squeezing back. 

“Why not after you? You’re the one with the ass that won’t quit.” 

“You’re the one paying for this Lyft so you’re going first.”

“Hm, expensive date. Am I going to get into your pants later at least?”

Eddie scoffs,

“Do you ever stop?”

Richie halts, 

“Actually no. Is that a deal breaker, because-“

Eddie shakes his head quickly, 

“No. No. I love it. I love you.” 

Richie’s head swirls,

“Um. I’m not ready.” 

He knows he’d brought this up. His secret had started it, but, the last person he’d said I love you to was Sarah. And he most certainly was not in love with Sarah. 

“It’s okay. I just don’t want there to be any confusion on how I feel. I love you Richie.” 

Eddie squeezes his hand as a black car pulls up in front of them.

“Damn that was fast.”

“Oh Edward, bold of you to assume I don’t have my own car.”

“Don’t call me that! God, you really are famous.”

“A little bit,” he says in a singsong voice, opening the door for Eddie. 

“Shut up dick.”

“Hey, your face will look good in paper print, I think.”

Richie slides in the car next to Eddie,

“Your face would look good-

“Where Eddie?” He dares, “where?” 

“You know what, your... mom. It’s unfair, I haven’t worked on my insults in thirty years, you’re over here being a professional cornball.”

Richie snorts, 

“Not my problem. Cause I can go all night baby.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, 

“Can you now?” 

There’s a cough from the front seat, 

“Sorry Carl. I’ll tell my friend to simmer down, there are innocents around.”

“You know I can hear you starting it Richie. Right?”

“Carl, you wound me. How can you think that I would have such a dirty mind?”

“Where are we going sir?” 

He makes a puking noise,

“Sir.. gross. Just home.”

“Sounds good sir,” Carl says once more to be a dick. 

“I like the sound of that,” Eddie teases, “Sir.”

“Oh hell no. First of all, fuck off. Second of all, you’d be referring to me as sir under entirely different circumstances.” 

Eddie’s face flames,

“Natalie didn’t say you were this insane.”

“Natalie, Angel, light of my life, would never betray me like that. What did she tell you?”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips,

“Secrets, secrets.”

“I don’t think you’re meant to be friends with my ex.” 

Eddie pales slightly at that and Richie wonders if he made it too weird. 

“I mean, she’s my best friend too so,” 

“No no, it’s fine, I just never thought of it like that. Oh god? That’s my competition? Teenie bopper soap star with a great rack?” 

Richie stiffens at hearing Natalie being reduced to that, but he hears what Eddie is saying, 

“There’s no competition Eds. Never been one.”

Eddie looks up at him and smiles softly. Richie leans in for a kiss. It gets a little heated and Richie tries to stretch out so Eddie can lay beside him, but Eddie kicks Carl’s chair and there’s a very judgmental stare coming from the rear view mirror,

“Mr.Tozier, there’s a reason I don’t drive preteens anymore.”

“Fine, fine, can you speed up then?” 

“I am happily going the five over the speed limit you usually request.”

“If I pay you extra can you make it ten?” 

He hesitates like he wouldn’t do it for free, before grinning, 

“3%?”

“Done.”

The car speeds a little faster and luckily Eddie’s short enough to crunch his legs up on the seat so that he can lay on Richie’s chest. He feels good. He feels real. He feels promised.


End file.
